


a little closer

by lavendrsblue



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, I can't believe that's a real tag, M/M, Morning Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, all that domestic stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 15:09:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6663652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavendrsblue/pseuds/lavendrsblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If you want me to get up so badly, you’ll have to try harder.”</p><p>Or: Suga isn't a morning person, but Daichi is; featuring a lazy Sunday morning before breakfast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a little closer

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this instead of doing literally any of my other responsibilities, sorry @ world

On an otherwise quiet Sunday morning a phone rings loud and insistent—Daichi’s call tone, not his own, so Suga burrows deeper under the blankets, still in the foggy earliest stages of waking up. Somewhere to his left, the mattress dips: Daichi sitting up.

Suga reaches for his arm with eyes closed, swiping until his fingers find purchase on warm skin. “Don’t get up yet…”

“Come on, we have things to do. Lives to lead.” The mattress creaks a little as Daichi leans over to plant a kiss on his forehead, Suga’s fingers still latched around his wrist.

“Mm—what time is it?”

“Eight-thirty.”

“Too early. Come back to bed.”

“You’re lazy today,” says Daichi. Suga can hear the smile in his voice. Somewhere beyond them, the phone ceases ringing. The call must not be important. “If you get up now, I’ll make you breakfast.”

Suga squeezes his eyes shut tighter, scrunching his nose against the little kisses Daichi leaves on his eyelids, the tip of his nose, the mole under his eye. “You do that anyway.”

“Ah, you caught me. You’re more alert than you thought, see?” At this, Suga _hmph_ s, lets Daichi’s wrist go, stuffs it under his pillow instead.

“If you want me to get up so badly, you’ll have to try harder.”

A pause as Daichi smooths the hair back from Suga’s forehead, the brush of his fingers gentle. Then he says, casually, “Will you get up if I say you can fuck me?”

 _Now_ Suga’s awake.

He squints one eye open. “That’s not fair.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Sawamura Daichi, you fight dirty.”

“I don’t hear you complaining.”

“Cheater.” Suga tilts his face up and Daichi leans over to kiss him—close-mouthed, conscious of their morning breath. But there’s no time for that; it’s already eight-thirty, after all. So Suga licks into his mouth, deepening the kiss, sliding hands around to his back to drag him closer.

“You taste terrible,” Daichi murmurs against his lips.

“So do you!”

“‘M not _judging_ —” He moves to kiss Suga’s neck, travels down farther, to his collarbones, his chest. “Just pointing it out.” As he slides down, Suga tangles his fingers into hair, lets his head fall back as his breath comes quicker. Daichi’s breath is hot on the skin just below his navel, and Suga lifts his hips a little to push his pajama pants down—but Daichi stops him with a hand. “Not yet,” he says.

“Daichi…”

“Shh, just lie back. Let me.”

After a moment Suga obliges, settling back into the pillows. “So you’re going slow? I thought you said it was getting— _late_ ,” he gasps, as Daichi presses his lips to the front of his pajama pants. Mouthing at him through the thin fabric, he drags his tongue down Suga’s length, sucks at the damp spot quickly growing at the tip. Taken together, the friction and heat are delicious but he’s going so _slow_.

Suga rolls his hips down, grinding his ass into the mattress, hoping that Daichi will follow and pick up the pace. Instead Daichi pulls back— _rude_ —and pins one of Suga’s hips with a hand.

“You said you didn’t want to get out of bed yet.” With his free hand he traces the outline of Suga’s cock, the barest pressure of fingertips, nowhere near enough. He speaks lightly, as if they were sitting across the breakfast table talking about—the weather, or something. “If you need to do something else, I can leave.”

Suga narrows his eyes. “You’re getting back at me for last week, aren’t you?” Several nights ago he’d had Daichi spread-eagle on the bed, two fingers pressed into his prostate, holding him right at the edge of orgasm as Daichi sobbed for release. It had been… more than _good_ , more like _incredible_ , Daichi had said as much after he’d regained the capacity for speech—but then as they’d drifted off to sleep that night he’d whispered something about _payback_ for all that teasing.

“Not yet. Do you think I’d let you off so easily, after—after that?” Suga has to suppress a smile at the little catch in Daichi’s voice. No matter how hard he tries, Sawamura Daichi is not half as suave as he’d like to be.

He props himself up on his elbows so he can look down at Daichi, who’s gone red in the face at the memory. “I can do that again,” he says, and grins as Daichi’s blush spreads to his neck and ears. “Maybe not right now, though.”

“We can, uh.” He clears his throat, glances at the tent in Suga’s pajama pants and away, going redder still. “Talk about it… later.”

“Sure,” says Suga.

He waits.

“So are you going to…”

“ _Yes_ ,” Daichi groans. “I’d have done it already if you weren’t so—distracting.”

Suga giggles all the way through Daichi tugging off his pants and pushing them away. He’d gone without underwear last night; the cool air of their bedroom feels good against his bare skin as Daichi nudges his knees apart.

A kiss to the sensitive skin at the crook of his knee, chaste, is how Daichi begins, and he works his way up Suga’s legs this way: slow, a little taunting, but also— _reverent_ , is what Suga thinks as he watches from the nest of their pillows. Daichi’s lips and tongue build heat as broad hands massage his thighs and ass, and a finger of cool air slides over the wet patches of saliva Daichi leaves. The contrast makes him shudder.

Suga lets himself melt into their bed, going boneless as Daichi sucks hard on a spot high on his inner thigh. Teeth sting his skin, then Daichi swipes his tongue over the spot, soothing, before sucking again. The kisses are going to leave hickies scattered up his thighs. He knows Daichi loves to see the bruises standing out dark against the skin, a map of their Sunday morning.

In the next moment Daichi pulls away, the departure of the wet heat of his mouth raising goosebumps on Suga’s skin. Suga opens his eyes, about to protest, but then a hand wraps around the base of his cock and Daichi’s on him again, pushing kisses along the shaft, his tongue slipping between his own fingers to reach the base, and Suga arches up off the bed, gasping. He winds one hand into the bedsheets and brings the other up to grasp at the back of Daichi’s head, though his hair is too short to really grab. Gasps melt into moans, low from the back of his throat as Daichi laves his tongue over the head, circling the tip before sliding down to take Suga into his mouth, sucking harder and harder as he twists his hand at the base.

It’s unsurprising, since they’ve been together for more than a year, but now it hits Suga all over again—Daichi has gotten _really_ good at blowjobs. The pace and intensity make his toes curl, the muscles in his abdomen tightening as the heat builds. And then somewhere in the haze consuming his brain he remembers—he actually doesn’t want to come yet.

“Thought you wanted me—to do you,” he manages, and then, “ _Fuck_ —” Daichi squeezes at his cock as he twists his hand and Suga momentarily loses coherence to a low moan. It’s distracting enough that he’s startled (and betrayed) when Daichi slides off him with a _pop_ , strings of saliva trailing him.

Daichi wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before he replies. “Are you awake enough now?”

“ _Daichi_.”

“I just wanted to make sure.” He crawls back up to press kisses up Suga’s stomach and chest. Suga squirms as the hard outline of Daichi’s cock, tenting in his underwear, drags along the inside of his thigh, pushing up next to his own. “Wouldn’t want you to overexert yourself, you’re getting so old.” Suga’s mouth pops open.

“Rude!” He pinches Daichi’s ass, hard, and Daichi jerks against him with a yelp—which sparks an idea. Biting back a grin, he hitches his knee around Daichi’s hip and grinds up, punctuating every sentence with a roll of his hips. “Shouldn’t you be asking nicely? _Oh, Koushi, I want you so much. You look so good like this, I want you inside me_.” He’s mostly joking but he doesn’t miss the way Daichi’s eyes roll back, how his lips part around heavier breaths.

“You do— _hah_ , fuck—you look perfect like this.” From anyone else this might be hyperbolic, brought on by the hormones and _want_ flooding their systems, but Suga can hear the sincerity in Daichi’s gasps, feel it in the way his arms shake to hold himself up.

“You’re not even looking at me.” Suga giggles to counter the heat creeping up his neck. It turns into a groan as he grinds up again and the motion drags his cock along Daichi’s length, separated only by a thin layer of damp fabric, now soaked through with a mixture of both of them. “I want to hear you,” he says, and Daichi opens his eyes.

“You’re right,” he says, and ducks his head to trail kisses along Suga’s neck, the way he does sometimes when he gets flustered and can’t look Suga in the eye—even now, after they’ve been together so long. It makes Suga smile. “I do want you—” A kiss to the hollow of his throat, another on his chest, open-mouthed. “I always do—don’t know how you do it—” Suga can barely breathe; somewhere along the way Daichi has taken over their rhythm and he’s rolling his hips _hard_. Suga’s erection is painful now, he wants skin on skin, and to take back control, feel Daichi’s body parting around him as he pushes in.

“Are you—can I…”

“Please,” says Daichi, and halts his kisses to look up at him, brown eyes dark and open wide. “Please, will you?”

“Turn over,” says Suga. Daichi scrambles to comply, reaching around to the bedside drawer for lube and a condom. Halfway through Suga interrupts him to tug his faded t-shirt over his head, complaining, “Take this off, I can’t even see you.”

“You’ve still got yours, too,” Daichi points out, pulling at the hem of Suga’s shirt. It’s the work of a moment to toss the rest of their clothing away, and for Suga to dribble a copious amount of lube over his fingers. “You don’t want me to do it?”

“Would you rather do it yourself?” Suga accompanies the question with the first finger, up to the second knuckle, and Daichi throws his head back against the pillows and lets out a noise like _hnnnngh_. Suga interprets this as a _no_ , and a _please don’t stop_ , so he keeps going, gradually adding a second finger and then a third until Daichi’s writhing in their sheets, nearly incoherent.

“Okay, okay, I’m—” He breaks off in a moan as Suga scissors his fingers.

“Good?”

“ _Yes_.” Daichi’s hips twitch, and Suga bites back a noise of his own at the feeling of Daichi tightening around his fingers.

“So impatient,” he teases, fighting to keep his voice steady, but draws out his fingers—Daichi whines at the loss—to roll on a condom. He knows Daichi will want to be on his back; he likes being able to see Suga’s face when he comes, he says. And sure enough, Daichi makes no move to turn over, just braces his feet so Suga can line them up, shivering at the brush of Suga’s fingers on his hips.

Suga presses in with agonizing slowness, his muscles shake with restraint. Through clouded vision he watches Daichi for any sign of discomfort but finds none—Daichi’s eyes are closed, head tipped back as he breathes fast and labored. Suga presses in farther, till his hips are nearly flush with Daichi’s ass. And there it is, he’s gotten lucky and hit just the right spot (or very near it), Daichi lets out a choked noise and reaches up blindly, fingers scrabbling at Suga’s torso. His nails scrape across Suga’s waist and back, there’ll be scratches to find tonight.

But Suga can’t think about _tonight_ , or _later_ , he only knows _right now_ , the hot press of Daichi’s body around his cock, his own arms shaking to keep himself from collapsing forward, Daichi’s chest heaving as he nods for a go-ahead. So Suga starts up a rhythm, steady and slow to mimic his pace earlier. To his surprise Daichi relaxes fairly quickly. Usually he’s tense near the beginning, but this time as he grows accustomed to the pace he lets Suga press his legs apart further, sighing, a smile finding his lips. It’s cute, and after a minute it’s _frustrating_. Suga doesn’t want Daichi content, he wants to get Daichi to the point where he’s close enough to orgasm that he gets greedy for touches, pulling Suga close, pushing his hips up for more.

“Pick your hips up,” says Suga. Daichi opens his eyes in surprise but complies without protest, only a wince at the change in position. Suga takes advantage of the angle to sit up and drag him closer so he can thrust harder, which he does, once, fast—Daichi gasps, head slamming back against the bed, and Suga stops moving completely.

“Are you okay? Was that—”

“Yes,” Daichi chokes out, and, “Again.”

So Suga picks up the pace; it would be easier with an extra pillow but he doesn’t want to pause now. With every twitch of inner muscle, every little noise that drips from Daichi’s lips, Suga can feel it in his cock—pulses of heat race through every part of him, pooling in his abdomen as he moves faster. After some time Daichi lets out a whine and reaches for him, and Suga knows what this means: _come closer, let me touch you_.

He leans forward, pressing Daichi’s knees up higher—Daichi grunts a little, they’re both less flexible than they used to be—to bring their mouths together in a messy kiss, both of them breathing too hard to do it properly. When they’re this close together Daichi’s cock gets rubbed between their bodies, Suga can feel the throbbing heat on his stomach, and Daichi, usually so quiet during sex, can only gasp out his name, interspersed with wordless moans: _Koushi, Koushi_ , like he always does when he’s close. It’s only when Daichi comes that Koushi’s name doesn’t spill from his lips—by then he’s beyond words, lost to the sensations rolling through him as Koushi leans down to kiss his neck, slowing the pace as Daichi shakes underneath him.

He forces himself to hold still while Daichi recovers, red-faced and trembling. After a minute his eyes flutter open to focus hazily on Suga’s face.

“C’mon,” he says, and pushes himself up on his elbows. “Your turn.” Suga leans down to meet him halfway, letting Daichi do the work of kissing while he starts to move again, trying to work back up to the rhythm he had before. He’s so close he aches with it, his legs are shaking with exertion, he shuts his eyes to better focus on the burning pressure around his cock and the words Daichi murmurs into his neck, _Koushi, come on, almost there, come for me_.

The world tunnels around him, bleaching out everything beyond the two of them; nothing else exists, and even if it did it wouldn’t matter—all that matters is this little bubble, here in their bed on a Sunday morning, with soft sunlight pushing in around the edges of their windows. _Koushi_ , Daichi whispers again, and when Suga finally tips over the edge his vision burns white behind his eyelids. It floods every corner of his brain, wiping out his ability to do—anything, really, except slump forward onto Daichi’s chest, panting, as he comes down from it.

He lets out a whine as an aftershock zings through him. Underneath him, Daichi laughs, the vibrations shaking his chest.

“Good?” he asks. It takes a moment for Suga to catch his breath before he can answer.

“You’re amazing,” he says, and manages to lever up on his elbows so he can reach for a kiss. Daichi smiles against his lips.

“Are you crying, Koushi?”

“What?” He pulls back abruptly. Daichi raises his eyebrows, lip caught in his teeth. Suga reaches up and sure enough, there’s just one tear that’s (traitorously) squeezed from his eye to track down his cheek. _Oh_. He scrunches his nose as Daichi laughs at him. Funny, Suga almost never cries during sex, it’s always Daichi—speaking of which: “So are you!”

“Yeah, but you knew that.” Daichi doesn’t bother to swipe at his eyes, just pushes himself up after Suga pulls out, wincing, and gets up to throw the condom away. “Hey—” He catches Suga’s hand as he sits on the edge of their bed, lifting it to press a kiss to the inside of his wrist. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Suga lets himself exhale, lips automatically curving up into a smile as he pulls Daichi in for a proper kiss, and his heart jumps like it’s their first time all over again. “Now go shower. You’re all sweaty.”

“So are you.”

“You go first. I’m not the one making breakfast.”

Daichi pulls a face, but Suga knows it’s to hide a grin. “Ah, I thought you’d forget.”

“Of course not.”

So Daichi makes eggs and Suga doesn’t burn the toast, and sunlight filters through the kitchen curtains soft and yellow-white, warm like Daichi’s hand on his shoulder, now as it’s always been.

**Author's Note:**

> the #wreckdaichi campaign continues. goodnight


End file.
